Here’s another Xanga blog from back in the day.
I find it incredibly interesting to see how far I’ve come, how much I’ve changed. When I go back and read my writing, I am usually pleasantly surprised. I usually enjoy my own work far more than I remember liking it when I wrote it. However, the difference between that Mandy and “me” is immense. More than what can be put into just a few words.
It’s nice to have a little proof that I’m still growing, still changing, and still getting better.
Xanga – 7/28/2007
I’m going to share with you one of my biggest fears.
I have generally found in life that the more I get to know someone, the less I like them. The people I meet and like more and more every day are few and far between. However, my fear is not that I wont find people that I like, or that I will always begin to dislike them the more learn about them.
My fear is entirely self-centered. I am a little ashamed to admit that, but it’s true. There is something about “me” that seems to attract people off the bat – I’m bright and friendly, I’m upbeat and sweet. I can come across as smart, and funny (I’ve been told these things…) but for some reason, whatever spark people seem to see in me that make them like me so much on first meeting… it fades.
I find myself not wanting to allow people to think highly of me. I find myself trying to convince people that I’m not everything that they seem to think I am. I find myself on the verge of yelling, screaming, shouting that I am just me. I am just me.
I know this comes from the hidden fear that if someone expects very highly of me, I can do nothing but let them down. But I look inside myself, I look in the mirror, I examine my daily interactions, and I do not find myself to be worthy. I do not deem myself fit. There is always a part of me that disagrees when I am given a truly wonderful compliment. I am just me.
I see a young girl that tries to be too thin, and can’t usually find happiness with her body. I see a woman with far to much of her father’s cynicism. I see a daughter with far too much of her mother’s ability to worry. I am thankful for my health, and my strong body, my able mind. But the Mandy I know is so unsure of herself. She walks on eggshells, waiting for the days that she ruins everything. She has a hard time believing someone like Brock finds something so lovable in her. She keeps waiting for the day everything it shatters like it did before.
I don’t know if this is a fault I have always held, or something that has been created within me as a result of my past. I hope it is something of the latter, something I can overcome and rise above. I want the “just me” to be good enough… for me.